


Campaigns

by aislingthebard



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-01-08 13:32:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12255384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aislingthebard/pseuds/aislingthebard
Summary: Decided to publish my d&d stuff on here, too.A collection of short fics about my various d&d characters, some romance, some angst, some stuff in between.Phedre is a woodelf druidVeldarin is a drow warlockAisling is a halfelf bard





	1. a rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phedre watches everyone

“Sure, you want to take the third watch? It’ll be pretty boring.” Dráven watched their group for a while, everyone settling in for another night in that weird, magical cubicle, which protected them against the cold and enemies.

“I don’t mind boring and I can keep myself company.” And she had to finish that book. With everyone asleep, no one would see her blush about some of the riskier lines and scenes. What a weird author to devote a whole page to describe the main character’s bossom.

“Sleep tight then, little sis.” He kissed her forehead and Phedre looked at his retreating form. Her brother took his troubles to bed, deep, crawling their way through his veins and yet he never opened his mouth to voice even one them. Maybe when the time seemed right? If ever. 

A faint, rotten smell clung to his bow and she wondered why no one else noticed it but her. Her twin meant everything and she wouldn’t allow losing him to some unseen foe. He’d saved her from the madness. She could do the same. 

Dráven slept a bit apart from the rest. Not wanting to interrupt the lovers or the deep snores of the dragonborn. Lately he’d also given her more space. Trying to get her to talk to other people, to get her to trust and feel again. It meant being on her own and making friends. Phedre missed their easy banter and the stories they used to share. Dráven wanted her to be stronger, though, and independent and she’d try. 

For him.

Phedre settled against her backpack, tuning out the voices and sounds and finding a core of silence within herself. Mediation had been the first thing her father had taught her about. Breathing, listening to the beating of her heart. It reminded her of happier times, laughing children and the smell of elderberries.

Alessa woke her.

“Your turn.” The cleric wore her weariness like armor. Shadows beneath her eyes, shoulders tight, everything controlled. She removed the plates with precision and yet her mind seemed so far away. They all remembered the fight against the vampires. The fledgling and the undead mistress and the face of a friend, who’d been thought dead. Phedre was afraid for her. A necromancer with such power wouldn’t be easy to defeat and neither were the inner demons that followed her steps. She knew about guilt, which slowly chipped away everything, and she’d worn the same expression over and over again. To lose your love and friends and your life. They shared those pain without the use of many words and she would remain at Alessa’s side, to try to save her when everything went wrong.

Phedre smiled and touched her hand for a fleeting moment. “Good night.”

She took out her book and the small flesh-eating plant, which she’d created a few nights ago. It grew every day and still wanted to take a bit of her. Carefully she patted its leaves. Her magic didn’t work well with too much rum in her body and instead of a beautiful flower it turned out to be this. Not that Phedre abandoned a creation of her own. She put it on the ground to look for the women, who should have enjoyed a pretty gift and not a little, flesh-eating monster.

She slept at the side of her princess, yet not close enough to touch her. Nithys, a lady of court. Too beautiful, too bright, with flames in her eyes. Talking to her felt like a chore with her throat all dry and her tongue leaden, as if the meaning of her words escaped her mind. Nithys always acted with grace, though, never lost her patience when phrases stumbled out of the elf’s lips. Never made her feel stupid and lost.

Nithys was the first tiefling that had crossed her path and all the talks about them being charming and otherworldly seemed to be right and Nithys had to know about that and yet she never appeared arrogant or as untouchable and proud like the princess. And Phedre saw her insecurities, too, the beginnings of discomfort and shyness in some situations. Knowledge only gained by reading books and not by life. 

One day, she would create a flower worthy of her.

The plant tried to bite her ankles and she patted its fleshy head. “Shhht, you’re still cute.”

Their princess slept in Fiam’s arms. Auburn hair messy and a soft smile on her lips. For once, she looked innocent and vulnerable and not like the hot-headed woman, who brought them close to death too many times. She sighed in her dreams, very content in her position against Fiam’s chest. Love and desire seemed strange to Phedre. No one had ever wanted to kiss or to hold her and their closeness made her shy and awkward and she tried to not be around them for too long. Fiam and his red eyes, always scaring her, making her afraid of her own shadow. Dráven got along with him, she didn’t. Perhaps never would. Even time couldn’t win against their differences and the way they looked at each other and the world.

Phedre got up to stretch her limbs. She needed to eat something a bit more substantial then dried fruits, too. With Dráven’s help, it was easier to remember when to eat and drink nowadays. Back in her forest such things hadn’t mattered. Bread and cheese would do and she moved carefully to not disturb the rest of the weary travelers. Phedre stopped when she found the other druid curled up in his cloak.

Malcer slept in his human form, all dark curls and tan skin. Such an unsettling sight, as all of them were used to see him as a falcon or a giant wolf. Phedre tilted her head, bit her lip. She remembered his tears and the ghost of his long-lost mother, the way he ran away from her and how she ran away from him. His stubbornness kindled her anger better than every bandit ever could and talking to him seemed full of traps and angles, which she didn’t understand yet.

Phedre shook her head. Not thinking about him was probably for the best. Less fighting, less pain. Less emotions. 

She got back to her place and plant and put a morsel of dried beef in its cup. “Enjoy your meal.” 

All of this was beginning to feel like a family. Too close for her liking, because it meant that she was afraid of losing them, afraid of the future and what waited in the dark. But her world felt less lonely, brighter somehow.

Maybe it was worth the fear.


	2. the hunt

Blood. Flesh. The thrill of a hunt. Her paws on the ground, wind in her ears. Phedre growled. The stag fled, thin limbs jumping through the thicket. She followed. As a wolf her body felt powerful, neither half-mad nor starved and magic prickled on her skin. Phedre always forgot where the beast ended and her own heart began. It was so much easier to stay in a shape, which was not fully hers. Her prey’s scent filled her nostrils. Kill. As everyone had been killed. Invisible chains dragged her down and for a second she lost focus and smelled the burning bodies and heard the screams of the innocent, stumbled. 

Another growl and a snarl then. She needed that stag. She forgot to eat for days upon days, while losing herself in the bright leaves of her forest. Voices whispered sweet nothings in ancient tongues and she often wondered why they didn’t show themselves.

The Feye. Perhaps the lords and ladies of some court or a single satyr trying to charm her. She’d learned their words and customs and still couldn’t figure out their intentions. Maybe they wanted her dead. To kill the elven druid, who’d crossed the borders of their home. Or to use her like some special toy, a mortal elf being caught in their webs.

Phedre smelled something in the distance. Something known. Something warm. She trembled despite thick fur covering her skin.

Brother. Pack.

But the prey would escape. Phedre shook her head, used her legs to run even faster. She was ready to kill. The stag smelled exhausted and would soon fall. Bloodlust and hunger. Her father had always claimed that a druid would keep his senses, while changing his skin. Phedre wasn’t so sure anymore. With every shift, she seemed to lose a bit of herself.

Brother. She saw and smelled him, the tall man dressed in leathers.

And pain numbed her senses. An arrow had hit her shoulder. Hard enough to tear through flesh and bone, missing her heart by a few inches. The shock broke her concentration and she felt herself falling and hitting the ground. Blood soaked the earth and made it soft.

A figure crouched above her. His hair as red as autumn leaves and those eyes… blue. So very blue. Phedre lifted her hand. Stains of red tinted his cheek where she touched him.

“You’re dead.”

“Phedre…” His voice. Dráven. He sounded like him but that man looked too broad and wore his hair short, hid beneath beard and stubbles. And there was hardness to be found. Too many carved edges.

“Your face.” She sighed. The years had tainted her memories of him, but Phedre remembered his laugh and the sparkle in his eyes. 

“Why do you have his eyes? You’re not allowed to have them.” She’d carve them out. No one wore his brother’s eyes but Dráven. 

Phedre fought against the scream waiting in her throat and tried to remember the voice of her brother, her twin, the other part of her being. An impostor? Faint magic lulled her in when their skin connected. A curse perhaps. She fought against the loss of blood. Maybe even death. 

“I’m here, Phedre.” The ice in his eyes started to melt.

“You’re him.” He grabbed her hand. Calloused from the use of a bow and the loss of his family and his sadness. 

“Dráven, I’m cold.” Her brother lifted her up, ever so careful of his arrow still hooked in her shoulder. 

Regret. Desperation. He smelled of both. “I will protect you, nésa.”


	3. maybe we don't wanna stay the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phedre and a first time

“You don’t have to be strong all the time.” Phedre bit the inside of her cheeks waiting for a response, but Nithys watched her tea getting colder in the passing moments. Thanking her for the kind words, yes, because politeness defined her every move, and yet, Nithys’ sadness seemed impalpable. Hidden so well and beneath layers upon layers of court education and years spent at the side of princesses and emperors.

Not unlike Alessa, with her temples and gods and loss, and yet rather different.

There weren’t enough flowers to cure such a thing. 

And she felt useless and stupid and a bit lost. She hated this town and how it poisoned everything.

Dráven sipped at his beer, watching his sister and Nithys and also Alessa, who sat at another table studying her book, lost in her own world. In their youth, Phedre had always known what was on her twin’s mind. The years of separation had changed them both and now, he appeared like a stranger from time to time.

Fiam’s face seemed exhausted when he came down the stairs, shadowed, he had to console Serenity after the news broke, hoping that maybe her best friend would bring her some peace of mind. How? Being forced into a marriage was gruesome and her disagreement could cost Serenity’s mother her life and the thought made her head ache. 

They couldn’t fight a whole Empire. Or two.

Even after a month of traveling together, Phedre found herself unable to speak with the heir of said Empire, though, or to exchange more than some hastily spoken words and plans. She stemmed from the woodlands and slept beneath the stars and not in silken sheets and knew nothing of the politics, which held their realm together. 

Dumb. So, so dumb.

And Phedre’s cheeks burned as Nithys left the table to talk to her. The beer had been strong and she loved the tingling numbness in her fingers and the way it quietened everything, lulled her into a fake kind of serenity.

Malcer watched her. 

Eyes golden and green in the dim lightning of the tavern. Almost like a forest. Maybe, … maybe he was her chance of feeling less and feeling more. To forget about everything for once. The broken faces of the women they’d found beneath the water, the cries and the fear in their eyes. Nithys and she had slept at their side, calmed them, tried to hold their hands during the nightmares, but nothing would ever make them whole again.

She’d changed during their travels, not much, but every day brought new challenges and they forced her to act and she still thought herself utterly useless in the presence of those former slaves. 

The bravery of the drunk let her voice sound confident. “Dráven?”

He raised his brows. “Hm?”

“I’m going to lie down for a bit. I don’t feel that well.” A lie. It rolled off her tongue so easily.

“Take care, nésa.” Dráven squeezed her hand and she saw the doubt in his eyes and how he thought about asking her what was going on. He didn’t.

Phedre rented a room for the first time in her life, handing over the coins. It still seemed so weird to exchange them for anything. She looked at Malcer and he followed her with his steps a bit too eager to appear casual.

The room was nothing special. A narrow thing with a bed and a nightstand. She lit the candles with a move of her hand, feeling the fire calling to her.

He came to stand at her side. “You sure about …” Malcer rubbed his neck. “This? Us.”

“Yes.”

She wasn’t. 

He was a druid, yes, but still a human man. Not aging as fast as the rest of his frail species, but aging nonetheless. And weighed down by the loss of his family. A hurt they shared, which had formed a bond between the two of them.

Phedre kissed him. It was easier than thinking and giving into her own nervousness.

Malcer even tasted like the forest. Sweet and of rain and sun. Leaves. Something earthen. His thumbs circled her jaw and she had to stand on tiptoes. She knew where this was going, where she wanted it to go. Phedre had never wasted a thought on desire. On this. But lately she dreamed. Thought about him, about Nithys, and she felt the blood rushing to her cheeks and heart beating hard against the inside her chest.

Her knees hit the bed and she tugged at his clothing. They hadn’t bothered donning their armor in the morning and it was easier to just pull off shirts and trousers, boots, undergarments. It all fell to a wooden floor.

But Malcer’s hands shook, nervously fumbling with the bindings of his trousers and Phedre helped, equally nervous.

He breathed a sigh of relief and Phedre tried to look at his face, ignoring the broad shoulders, his chest and how the tattoos changed his golden skin. She knew about lying with another person, in general at least. This, though?Something different.

Phedre didn’t know what to do with her hands and her trembling legs and how to process from here. Naked and vulnerable and reminded of the imperfection of her body, the freckles on her shoulders, the narrowness of her frame, scars, the vines of her clan’s markings, how frail she must appear.

Malcer touched her chin, making her meet his eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

No one had ever called her that and he lifted her up into his arms and carried her to bed. Phedre had to laugh then and he answered with a smile. It was getting easier. Slowly.

The bed creaked beneath them and it was too small to offer much comfort for two. The linen seemed scratchy but clean and she tried not to hit her head on the frame. Malcer was on top of her a second later, careful not to crush her beneath his weight. Phedre felt the heat of his skin and saw how dark his pupils had become. She’d seen him like this after a fight and after their first kiss.

Magic surrounded him. It smelled ancient.

She squirmed. “I have never. This is…”

Malcer furrowed his brow. “I can stop.”

“No. It’s alright.”

“Just tell me, if you’re not comfortable.” And he kissed her again. Her forehead and nose, her lips, her chin, following the line of her throat and chest. Phedre felt his hardness against her legs and couldn’t fathom how she could cause such desire. He seemed a flustered and yet far more confident in his movements and where to touch and kiss her. She watched the muscles of his back and in his arms.

And she suppressed a moan when he kissed her breasts, his lips around her nipples Grabbing the sheets, she arched her back and closed her eyes. She found herself in her forest, save and not alone but with him. Warmth spread throughout her body and Malcer’s hands found her thighs. His thumbs circled her skin and he moved them between her legs.

He caught her moan with a kiss and she thought that she felt him smile against her mouth.

Phedre put her arms around his neck, forcing him closer and trapping his hand between them. She moved against him, trying to create friction. Her body needed more of whatever he was doing and her hips buckled. She bit Malcer’s shoulder, pressing her face against his body. With the thin walls, the Inn wasn’t made for screaming, nor were her friends. Her heart beat so fast and she felt numbness and bliss and lost her mind.

“Phedre.” Malcer didn’t mind her teeth in his flesh and his cheeks seemed flushed. 

His mouth went to her throat, sucking her pulse, almost breaking her skin. 

Malcer’s fingers were wet and she blushed, as he touched her stomach and the small scar beside her navel. Phedre tried to even out her breaths, but nothing in her body listened to her commands. The sheets suddenly felt too rough, Malcer’s body too warm and the room too small. Was that really happening? Amidst the chaos and confusion and the terrible fate, which waited for them all?

“Still alright?” He whispered.

“Yes.”

Malcer lifted her hips, waited for Phedre to voice her doubts and when she didn’t, he brought their bodies together. It hurt. Not much. Just a bit and he moved and she felt the heat again and any pain vanished. 

She pressed her knees against his hips and Malcer grunted her name. He seemed to like being restricted in his movements. 

Phedre lost the track of time and heard his voice near her ear, whispering unintelligible nothings. Maybe telling her stories of his home and himself, just trying to make her comfortable and loved. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this complete. 

Malcer’s hand stayed between them, rubbing against her with every thrust. This time, she couldn’t stiffle her moans. Phedre pushed her head deeper into the pillows and he licked her throat, moaning against her. She smelled the salt on his skin. 

His body jerked and then they kissed and stayed still. He was still inside her, not letting go of her body yet.

“You liked that?” Malcer’s voice sounded deeper than usual and a bit raw on the edges.

“Very.” It seemed stupid to blush, but Phedre lost against the heat in her face. Suddenly she was sleepy and exhausted and wanted nothing more than the crawl atop of him and find some rest. Malcer stroked her face and shoulders and put a chaste kiss on her mouth, before moving. Suddenly she felt cold and Phedre put her head on his chest to catch some warmth. Listening to his steady heartbeat was comforting and his tousled locks made him look vulnerable and young. He covered them with a blanket, because the room got cold quickly. They hadn’t thought about heating up the fireplace or using some coals.

Malcer kissed her hair and stroked her arm. “I think we have to leave soon.” 

They had to travel to the city of the Emperor, to save someone that she’d never seen or even heard of. But right now, she had this. And him.

Phedre followed the lines of his tattoos with her fingers and raised goosebumps on his skin. “Just a few more minutes.”

“Okay.”


	4. hold on to what you've found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phedre discovers that she may be bisexual

Phedre had stopped counting the days. They’d been traveling for how long? A month? And some more days that all felt like eternity. 

Being trapped in a dream of the Feye screwed with your perception of things. Even after waking up. She still heard the strange women in her dreams and witnessed the high elves repeating a thousand year old mistake. How easy to doom a whole nation. They’d needed nothing more than a decision about a nearing war and a false sense of safety. At least those dreamers were free now and wandered through the woods looking for traces of their ancestry. Phedre tried not to think about how it must feel. To sleep for such a long time, only to wake up and find everything gone. The punishment for slaying an Archfey.

Bercine seemed like a welcome distraction. A lively city trapped between mountains and forests and a place to spend the night. Phedre stretched her travel weary limbs as she climbed out of the wagon. She tried to catch Malcer’s eyes, but the druid seemed lost in his own thoughts. As a servant of the guardian of the forest those feye and elves must have hit something close to home. Or not. It was hard to tell with Malcer.

Phedre patted their horses instead. Lately cities didn’t scare her as much as they did before. Not that she would get used to the stink and how narrow and crowded everything looked. And the noise. Screaming and laughing and fighting. Nothing ever seemed quiet.

She saw Dráven unpacking their belongings and helped him with the backpacks.

“Where are we going to stay?”

“An Inn called the golden goldfish.” Her twin couldn’t bring himself to mention the name without shaking his head and a smile waiting at the corner of his mouth.

Alessa looked up from her book. “That is such a silly name.” 

Phedre agreed. Humans.

The decision to visit a bathing house was made in the blink of an eye. The dirt of the road clung to their skins and while Dráven and Fiam seemed far too eager to use a section for both men and women, Phedre followed Nithys to a far more secluded space. It offered the comfort of empty benches and a large pool filled with steaming water. Fresh towels and soap lay on a dresser and Phedre didn’t mind paying for something like that.

Watching Nithys undress unsettled her.

Phedre tried not to watch her, to concentrate on loosening the bindings of her armor and yet her eyes wandered. They’d seen each other naked more than once. The road seldom offered personal space and they would bathe and shower together with Alessa and Serenity. But in such close quarters the sight raised goosebumps on her arms. Phedre remembered their talk in Vindale, how Nithys had coughed and stumbled through her words about the princess. How sad she’d looked for a moment and how ashamed. To imagine having to watch Serenity falling in love with Fiam. It hurt.

Phedre climbed into the basin and felt the muscles in her body relax. Sitting in a wagon for hours made her limbs stiff and her mind cranky. But she’d sleep better tonight, whether Malcer was present or not. Soaps and oils offered a variety of smells and she reached for a soft sponge. 

Nithys sighed, trying to reach her back without much success.

“Do you need help?” She cursed herself for speaking without thinking and blushed when Nithys turned around to look at her. Phedre stared at her hands, unable to ignore the presence of a very wet and very naked tiefling so close to her.

“Would you mind?” Nithys seldom spoke without grace and eloquence and even now she kept her demeanor calm.

Phedre took another sponge and a piece of soap. “No.”

She could do this without further embarrassing herself and moved closer to touch Nithys. The graceful neck, her shoulders, the line of her spine. Phedre was glad that Nithys’ eyes were closed and for the steam, which hid her constant blush. Her skin was smooth and perfect and she felt awfully clumsy. Hands too weak to hold the sponge, the soap too slippery. 

It seemed unfair to be that pretty. Really, really unfair.

“Can you…” Nithys reached around her back. “My tail?”

Phedre fought against the urge to say something rather dumb or squeal or flee. She was sure that her brother could hear her heartbeat a few rooms away. Fainting wasn’t an option either. She could easily drown here. But that would save her from her own awkwardness. So maybe …

Instead of drowning, Phedre took a deep breath. “Of course.”

Nithys rose, her lower back now visible. Phedre bit the inside of her cheeks and rubbed her neck. Touching the tail of a tiefling seemed rather intimate, even if she wasn’t sure why, but her concentration had long gone and the whole room appeared to be too warm und she willed herself to help. 

Soap, foam, sponge, water. Repeat.

“Are you alright?” Nithys looked over her shoulder. Even her wet hair seemed pretty, gracefully covering her shoulders and face while Phedre had to fight a mess reddish curls and knots and soaked feathers.

Her answer sounded like the squeak of a mouse. “Yes.” 

Why didn’t she possess the easy charms of her brother, sweet words and gestures? Though, he seemed a bit out of his depth in talking with Alessa, but she couldn’t help him with that. Phedre couldn’t help herself either and worked in silence. Brushed Nithys’s hair after putting on a towel and wondered how she deserved to be close to her.


	5. dresses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phedre wears a dress for the first time

Wearing a dress turned out to be far more complicated than expected. 

Phedre tugged at the sleeves and the delicate embroidery, hoping that she wouldn’t ruin them somehow. Not to mention that she lost her way in the palace more often than not. Everything seemed to be made out of stone and gold and glass. Hard and unyielding it offered little space for plants and herself. Phedre longed for traveling far away and back to the rich forests of the continent, but she’d received an invitation and after everything it would’ve been rude to decline.

Her bare feet got cold from walking on marble and her neck hurt from studying all the paintings on the ceilings. Scenes from the glorious rise of the dragon empire. Auburn haired soldiers fighting against armies and monsters. It seemed natural to lose yourself in them.

She finally asked an imperial guard, which showed her the way to the counselor’s chambers.

Phedre knocked. “Nithys?”

“Yes, come in please.”

Nithys’s rooms seemed vast and open, cluttered though with books and parchment and memories of their past adventures. Some parts of slain enemies like a horn or a sharp tooth. It smelled like a library and a museum.

The tiefling stood in front of a mirror, carefully adjusting her dress.

“You look stunning.” Phedre regreted her words, because it seemed very silly to state the obvious.

She did, though. Covered in red and white and in fabric so thin at her back and sides that Phedre saw the skin beneath it. With a delicate pattern woven in that clung to her hips and breasts and a cape, which made Nithys look like an empress herself.

“I have to.” She sounded sad, a bit absent.

Phedre rubbed her neck. “I tripped over the hem of my dress three times already.”

Nithys tried to stifle her laugh. “You’ll learn, I’m sure.”

Phedre firmly believed that that had to be pure optimism. She missed being able to move freely and without all the fabric weighing her down. Even her armor, which offered a lot more protection than gauze.

“Would you mind doing my hair.” The white tresses looked freshly washed and flowed down her back.

“No! It’d be my pleasure.” Nithys’s hair was thick and perfect for braiding them and it actually gave her an excuse for touching it. Phedre carefully wove some strands together and watched her expression in the mirror. Nithys eyes had the same hollow look like all those weeks ago in… which city had it been? She couldn’t remember, but Fiam und Serenity had been attacked, then talked about marriage as the last way out, and for the first time Phedre understood that maybe Nithys’s feelings for her childhood friend were complicated and based on more than pure friendship.

She bit her lip and tugged a flower between two braids. “Are you… Is everything alright?”

Their eyes met in the mirror and Nithys sighed. “I don’t know. This wedding… This wedding is something that I need to accept.”

No one seemed sure, if Fiam even followed his heart or his lust for gold and riches and the opportunity to take revenge on his homeland. Serenity loved him. Blind to anything and happy to escape any further marriage plans.

“It doesn’t feel right, though?” Nithys closed her eyes.

“No. It doesn’t.” Phedre worked in silence then, following her own line of thoughts, while her fingers worked without pause. It’d been a comfort back on the road and still helped with calming her nerves. She hoped that no one would ask her to dance or to do courtly stuff. Phedre hoped for hiding behind pillars for the rest of the day. 

“Where is Dráven?” Nithys took a brush to put some color onto her cheeks.

“With Alessa probably. Helping her with the ceremonial armor. So many pieces and plates.” 

“Do they…?”

Shrugging, she put another flower into the braids. “They have to figure it out for themselves. I’m not going to intervene.” Dráven hadn’t either when Malcer held her hand for the first time and when he left to travel back to his home. His forest needed him more than she did and she had to face being alone again.

“Done!” Phedre put a last flower behind her ear.

Nithys took her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

“Always.”


	6. chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veldarin's past

“Now, behave,” she murmured. 

Iron dug into his skin, breaking it, blood on his back, slowly soaking his shirt. Veldarin tried to breathe, but to no avail. Elerra dragged him closer, forcing him on his knees with a jerk of his chains. The ring around his neck seemed to get tighter with every second. Black spots danced before his eyes. No, he couldn’t faint.

Her voice, cruel and cold, and Veldarin didn’t dare to look into her eyes and see the madness in there. “You’re trying to make friends with the pixie, aren’t you? I’ve heard you talking, speaking about the brightness of the outside and the mercy of her lady of the forest.” Elerra held the chains firmly in her right hand, denying him to find a comfortable position. 

Veldarin’s whole body ached and his thoughts started to race. Maeve had been in the clutches of Elerra for a short time and he’d found her in a rotten cage, flapping her wings against the metal. A creature unlike anything found in the blackness of the underdark. Fragile and bright and beautiful, not made to be a pet of a Lloth.

Veldarin’s voice sounded hoarse. “No, mistress. I promise, I didn’t …”.

She slapped him, one of her rings slicing open his lip and making him taste blood on his tongue. Her brute force surprised Veldarin. She often relied on the gifts her goddess granted her, teasing and torturing him with magic, making him dance to her tune, clothing him in chains and whispered spells.

“Never lie to me. The goddess tells me everything. She sees your thoughts and smells the sickness in you.” She shook her head. “Veldarin of the house of Rilyant’tar, a traitor to his own race. A disgrace.” He’d heard that speech before. His father, mother, his six brothers, all disgusted with his lack of talents and ambitions and his choice of bedding the wrong people.

Elerra got to her knees, careful to not soil her robes with his blood. She was vain like the rest of her ilk, always using powders and creams and magic to create an illusion of beauty, hiding their own depravity behind masks and expensive materials.

Tracing the outline of his jaw, she smiled. “You should thank her that she made you so pretty.” The priestess’ nails dug into his skin and forced him to look up.

“I’ll make you pray to her. Make you see her greatness and her power. You’ll call her name in your sleep and yearn for her blessing.” Her eyes had the color of drying blood. 

He’d never see any trace of mercy in there.

Almost gently she tugged a strand of hair behind his ear. “Look what you made me to.” Elerra pressed her lips against his mouth, licking away the traces of blood. “Never lie to me again, Veldarin. Never. You’re with me for the rest of your miserable life and I don’t want to ruin your handsome face. It’s your one redeemable feature.”

Veldarin flinched beneath her touch. “I promise, mistress.”

Another smirk and his stomach felt hollow and afraid of the things, which were yet to come. Elerra loved to punish her property. One of the reasons why his own house decided to sent him to her.

He pressed his lips together, a small gesture of defiance. He’d had to find a way out of here and Maeve seemed to be his best chance. To die in chains and for Lloth wasn’t a future that he could accept.

She patted his head. “Good. Clean yourself up. I’ll need you later.”

Veldarin watched her leave and spat on the ground, as soon as she’d closed the door behind her.


	7. bravery

Phedre wrapped her arms around herself and hummed to herself. A half forgotten lullaby, which had been sung by her father and mother and the members of her clan. It spoke of an elven hero and love and bravery and helped with calming her frayed mind. Nowadays, there seemed to be sadness hidden in the melody and a note of loss. Like a thief grief had crawled into her thoughts and left its taint on everything. 

“Just be brave. It’s not hard.” Her short nails dug into her skin and she wished to transform herself in some sort of big animal, stronger and bigger than herself. A wolf, whose fangs tore to flesh and bone, or a raven, whose wings could carry her away. Maybe an elementar. Just something else. 

Phedre pressed her back against a marble column and watched the celebrations. All those people cheerfully sipping away their wine. She saw Alessa and Draven, close to each other and whispering and very unsure, if they were in love or not, and nobles from all regions. Not that she cared much about their names and families, or they silken robes.  
Putting one foot in front of the other helped and Phedre came to stay at a near window. Her breathing became regular again as soon as she felt the air on her face.Stars danced on a dark sky and fireworks dampened their shine. Cheerful voices and laughter filled the air and one laughter sounded brighter than anything else.

Nithys.

Clad in a tight dress and with her hair woven into elaborate braids, she looked more beautiful than ever. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel the soft hair between her fingers and the slender neck beneath her palm. Flower petals on the ground.

Phedre waited and watched people come and go and she saw Nithys’ shoulder stiffen more than once. The palace brought a lifetime of memories back to light. Time flowed. Her feet started to hurt and her throat got dry. She drank a wine or two and felt the blush creeping into her cheeks. Though, it dulled the nervous fluttering in her stomach. 

“Are you enjoying the evening?” Nithys’s smile was warm and a welcome. Phedre put her arms in front of her chest, as if trying to protect herself from an unseen foe. Nithys on the other hand, acted as graceful and polite as always. Not a single strand of hair out of place. Her heart seemed to burst at any given moments. With her sweaty palms and quivering voice, she’d never fit in. Not here.

“No.” Phedre shook her head, before correcting herself.

“I meant… yes… yes, of course. I’m sorry. It’s all very grand?”

Nithys hid her laughter behind her hand. “But the food is very tasty.”

“Yes.” Phedre didn’t trust her own stomach and had only nibbled on a bit of cheese and fruit. Combined with the wine, it seemed the course of her lightheadedness. Maybe now was the moment to be brave. They stood out of sight and most of the guests looked too deep into their cups, swaying on their feet or dancing to the tunes of the gathered bards.

“Once, just once. I promise.” And Phedre got on her tiptoes and kissed her. Nothing more than a quick peck on the lips. Nithys tasted like honey. And wine. All traces of bravery left her. A sudden chill made her shudder and she didn’t dare to look into the tiefling’s face.

“I’m sorry.” And Phedre ran away.


	8. a dream

Phedre dreamt of home. 

A forest filled with the laughter of her clan and golden trees standing taller than the sky. She gazed at their shadows and sensed warmth beneath the soles of her feet. Voices whispered in her ears, singing, sighing. A hundred flowers crowned her hair and her skin seemed bare but for a few pieces of silk. She danced in a clearing surrounded by light and listened to the beating of fragile wings. Pixies created a rain of leaves, which covered everything.

Phedre smiled.

She’d been haunted by visions of the fae for all her life, never quite catching the figures hiding in the corners of her eyes and driven almost mad by their absence.

“Come child.” A voice disturbed her movements and a slender hand reached for her. Phedre grasped it.

The woman’s tone reminded her of her mother, of a sweet memory, though, she couldn’t see her face. “You’ve suffered enough. Be calm. Be free.” Impressions of auburn hair and green eyes, freckles spread on shoulders and chest. Phedre felt, as if she saw herself in a mirror, without her fears and sadness. Older. Somehow wiser. More like herself.

“You will love her in the end.” More whispers and a kiss that tasted of honey. Phedre shuddered and noticed another figure waiting between the trees. Nithys. Here? A constant presence in her dreams of late. She’d noticed her beauty first, it seemed impossible not to, and the way her eyes shone, how her hips swayed with every step and those curved horns.

But her true strength lurked in the calmness of her mind, so bright and gentle. And beneath her quietness hid an anxious soul, eager to please, eager to fit in, bound to something dark and demanding. Phede had witnessed the shyness and the sadness and it tugged at the strings of her heart. Her princess stayed blind throughout all of those years spent with her tiefling friend, eagerly throwing herself into the arms of someone else, and Phedre felt nothing but contempt for her.

She plucked a flower from her own braids. “Will she love me?”

“That’s for her to decide.” Fingers brushed her cheek. “You have to wake up.” A last kiss and Phedre came awake with a start.

She’d fallen asleep crouched over her desk. Ink stained her fingertips and she stretched her neck and shoulders, ignoring the half finished letter. What a strange dream. Phedre thought that she could still smell the leaves and her ears rang with the laughter of those fairies. They’d been mostly silent during their travels.

The knock on her door surprised her. “Phedre? Are you asleep?”

“No.” 

Nithys. She blushed to the tips of her ears. Quickly, she tried to ease the wrinkles out of her dress and opened the door.

“You ran away and…” Nithys rubbed her neck. She looked as unsure as Phedre felt. The silence stretched between them, neither sure how to proceed. 

Phedre chewed on her lips and stared at her feet. “I’m sorry for the kiss, but I’ll have to leave soon and I didn’t want to go without,… kissing you.”

Nithys’ cheeks darkened. “I don’t know what to say. What about Malcer? I thought that you would travel with him?”

“No. Malcer has left two days ago.” His people waited for him and he went without so much as an uneasy goodbye. 

Her voice sounded steadier. “I’ll never be his fate and he’ll never be mine.” Phedre wasn’t ashamed about what happened between the two of them. They’d shared a bond, trusting another druid amidst the chaos of their world, but infatuation didn’t offer true feelings.

“Phedre.” Her name on Nithys’ lips sounded like the sweetest song. “I’m quite frankly out of my wits. I don’t know what to think. Everything’s a mess. Seeing Serenity marrying him…” Him. His name was a curse and a call of ambition and darkness. Through everything, they’d never found a common ground. Phedre doubted that Nithys held much love for him either, but was too polite to let it taint her words and actions.

“I understand.” Phedre dared to look at Nithys’s face. She had to straighten her neck to do so, but she didn’t dare to look away. “I’ll always be your friend, though. Nothing will change that. Kiss or not.”

Nithys traced the line of Phedre’s jaw with her forefinger. A touch almost like pixie wings.

“I feel honored.” A flicker of doubt crossed her features and she looked away. Phedre sensed that she argued with herself, weighing every option carefully. Like she always did.

Nithys kissed her then.

Phedre stood on tiptoes and forgot to close her eyes. She watched Nithys’ lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. So beautiful. Her lips moved against hers and the taste of wine seemed stronger now. But there was hesitation in their kisses, both unsure of their meaning. Phedre wrapped her arms around her, pressed her body closer to hers. Their thin dresses hid nothing and warmth crawled through her body, as she felt the outline of Nithys’ breasts.

Another dream?

No. The skin beneath the palms of her hands seemed hot to the touch and real. They moved in union, until Phedre’s legs hit her bed. She took Nithys’ hand and pulled her down. It was easier that way and probably healthier for both of their necks. Phedre positioned herself atop on Nithys’ lap, auburn tresses tickling her face, when she leaned down to kiss her again.

Phedre became dizzy from the kisses and the touches and the mere thought that she was allowed to do this.

She stopped and blinked and created a flower in the palm of her hand. Her eyes were dark, as she placed it over Nithys’ heart. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you. I danced with the high lords and ladies of the fae and dreamed of their might and yet they’re pale imitations of your grace.”

The smell of leaves filled the room and for a second, Phedre thought that she heard bell like laughter.


	9. the dream

“Ugh, no.” Aisling rubbed her wrists and pushed her blankets away. She remembered renting some rooms in some backwater village, hoping for lice free beds and rest and maybe a keg of wine or two. Chano had rolled his eyes when Galogak and Reed took a room for the both of them. He and Aisling prefered the quietness and peace of separate housing. 

Her quarters appeared changed, though. Larger, luxurious. A four poster bed, decorated with heavy linens, and darkness surrounding her, without a single light to be seen.

She searched her back and felt the tendrils of the curse creeping on her bare flesh. By now, a skull almost devoured her entire back, down to the soft skin of her hips. Its bones touched and teased, leaving her body throbbing for more. Aisling sighed and put a hand on her stomach. Her own nakedness came as no surprise. Not any more. 

Aisling closed her eyes. “We’re doing this? Again?”

He emerged from the shadows. A figure taller than her, broader, and his breathing tickling her ears. “You’re mine. I’ve marked you. You’ll never be alone.” Cold fingers brushed her cheeks and traced the line of her jaw and neck. 

His nails looked like claws.

“Why me?” Aisling stayed still. His touch sent shivers down her spine and she pressed her lips together. All of this seemed nothing more than a dream, some sort of twisted reality and yet, she felt his touch and smelled the earth on his skin.

“You dared to defy me.” He wrapped a strand of Aisling’s hair around his finger and his strange eyes focussed her face. “I haven’t seen such spirit in centuries.”

Aisling rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. I’m so very special. Spare me your lies.”

He smiled, baring sharp teeth. “I’m not lying. You and your little friends were a welcome distraction and you fooled me.” Another husky laughter. “I’ve been so blind. To mistake you for one of my slaves. My magic should have warned me.”

“Cardis.” The drow cupped her face and Aisling leaned into his touch. She trembled beneath his caress.

“Your flesh is so young and so alive.” Cardis craned his neck and whispered against her mouth.

“Half elf, mistress of song, always torn, always hoping for something more.” He bit her lip and licked a drop of blood away. His kisses tasted like death. Mouth covering her own, his tongue pressing against hers. A promise of might.

“I’m your answer.” Cardis’ thumb circled her breasts, until he felt her nipple’s stiffen.

He guided her to the bed then and she missed a breath. “You’re awfully full of yourself.”

Aisling pulled him down with her. 

His clothing disappeared like her own and she saw the lean lines of his body, muscled and dark, some scars. Magic bound her to the bedposts, leaving her at his mercy. She felt the shackles around her wrist tighten with every move and held still. Aisling craved his touch and mouth and cock. Deep down, she knew that she liked to be his and to be controlled up to a certain point.

And it wasn’t their first time. 

He’d been with her ever since leaving the island. Ever since, he’d marked her with his sigil, in every dream, during every night.

Cardis wasn’t gentle. He pressed his fingers into her flesh, already leaving marks, scraped his teeth along her neck and breasts, bit and sucked. Aisling enjoyed every drop of pain. Pushing his hand between her legs, he found her wet and smiled. Aisling despised the satisfied smirk and grinded against his fingers. The shackles hindered her movements, as she pushed her body down. 

“And still you fight me. Give in.”

Aisling moaned, louder this time, as he found her clit. Not that he cared much about her pleasure, but he adored seeing her in the helpless throes of passion, vulnerable.

“You’re so eager. I never had someone so eager for my touch.” Cardis forced her legs apart and settled between them. He rubbed his cock against her, wetting his hard flesh. Heat pooled in her stomach and goosebumps covered every inch of her skin. A part of herself hated how Cardis made her feel and how he craved his touch. He’d slowly crept into her waking hours, too. The taste of his lips and the smell of magic. Aisling swore to never utter a word to her friends about it.

Cardis lifted her hips and moved, destroying every rational train of thought. Aisling screamed and struggled against the chains with every thrust. Hard, quick. Everything tasted of blood and darkness. Shadows surrounded them and lulled her into another dream. 

He stilled his body and laughed. “Sing for me, bard.”


	10. trading places

Shards of glass cut her hands. Remains of a broken mirror. Aisling watched her blood, still red, dripping to the ground. Shadows danced beneath her skin and swirled and changed. She imagined seeing a skull, bones and his face. By now, every inch of her seemed to be covered in his mark. Her once beautiful face drenched in darkness and despair. 

Aisling barely resisted clawing out her own eyes.

“Don’t fight me. You’ve enjoyed my company so far. I can taste your lies.” His voice in her head. A constant presence, as his touch. Dark tendrils caressed her, followed into her dreams and he took her every night, heated flesh in hers. He was so close now. Almost able to kiss Aisling in her own realm, because the planes began to intertwine. .

“I’ve given you enough. Please, leave me alone.” Tears prickled in her eyes.

“No.” Something stretched inside her guts. “You’ll be my vessel. My new body.” Cardis’ laughter seemed hollow and promised death.

“I’m going to miss your passion.” Cardis licked blood away from her arms and sharp nails dug itself into her wrists. “But I’ll have your body for all eternity.”

Cardis desire to return to the world of living knew no boundaries. Even in his half-dead state, he conjured enough might to creature such a curse. With him invading her body, her soul would be lost.

Aisling fought.

Closing her eyes, she remembered her childhood. Insanity taking her mother, noble lords taking her innocence and her father. A half elf, torn between cultures and her own desires. She’d not escaped a life of slavery for this.

She’d made a few friends along her travels, Chano above everyone else and her mentor. How she missed their faces.

Cardis screamed and another wave of sickness ran through her mind.

She brought destruction to places of pure and good and sang sounds atop piles of bones. Her body ensnared the wicked and the just and she dined with kings and queens and she bathed in gold and gems.

Another scream and a curse. Her nose and ears and eyes bled. She would die. No. There was a melody in her pain. Silent tunes from the depths of everything. Aisling began to sing the song, which seemed to be carved into the insides of her skull. It spoke of her journey and Cardis’ failure.

Untouched power awakened within her.

Her body changed, skin turning into obsidian, hair pure silver and her eyes as red as a sinking sun. Gone were the marks of his magic. Aisling was him now and herself. She’d taken his power for her own and denied him her soul and body.

She had won.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party is in the Feywild and is followed by something that plays with their minds and this totally happened

Veldarin’s head spun.

He’d too much wine, the sweet flavor of berries and honey still on his lips, and his steps a bit crooked. His visits to the Feywild seemed far and inbetween, but Veldarin remembered this Court and the hidden paths beneath a canopy of flowers and trees, and the smell of snowdrops and crocus. A second home, filled with light and hope. 

Catching up with Amalthea, always ended with wine and laughter, some kisses from an immortal mouth and closeness. Veldarin would never understand how a High Lady of the Fey took interest in him. She’d found him bloodied and beaten and on the brink of death and somehow saved him. How to repay such a debt? Servitude for the rest of his life and a place at her side, if he’d ever chose to leave the mortal plane behind? A Drow in the Court of Spring. What a strange thought and yet, here he was. 

Amalthea’s mood changed within minutes, but she’d never treated him unfairly or asked for favors, which he wasn’t willing to give. She loved to tease him, yes, mocking his choice of friends. 

He rubbed his head. At least, the crown of flowers was finally gone. Instead she’d summoned some blossoms around his wrist and he endured that with quiet dignity. Or tried to. Everything seemed better than a crown of snowdrops atop of your hair.

Veldarin walked quietly and greeted some of the remaining Court. Just a few guards, tired satyrs and centaurs, leaning on their weapons.

What caught his interest was the form of one of the other visitors. One of those, who’d stumbled into his life a few nights ago. As honorable and polite Alces appeared, he had a knack for bringing outcast to his doorsteps and demanding help for hopeless cases. And Veldarin never said no. He blamed Alces and his puppy eyes for this. And the urge to pay for his past actions. 

The worst aspect of the whole journey was the fact that he started to like them. The stubborn ranger, the sad fighter, the sweet cleric, the shy paladin, even the foul-mouthed bard. Felicitas reminded Veldarin of himself in his younger years, loud and full of mockery and arrogance. 

“Arcelm?” He sat crouched against some roots, body moving slightly, eyes on the ground. Something was off. 

He didn’t react. “Is everything alright?” Pale skin flushed a bright red and a sheet of sweat covered his forehead. 

So, obviously not.

“Arcelm”. Veldarin got to his knees and touched his face. Small moans broke the silence between them. He seemed to be lost in some far away dream and what Veldarin first thought to be sounds of pain, exposed themselves as … moans of pleasure? 

Veldarin felt heat rise in his cheeks and blamed his wine filled body. He thanked his obsidian skin for not showing any sign of discoloration. 

Some unseen creature followed them through the Feywild, fuelled by their dreams and hopes and nightmares. Veldarin was relieved that he hadn’t heard the laughter of his daughter again, considering that his heart would simply break anew. Torn edges open and vulnerable and asking for a killing blow.

Instead it haunted Kethra and Jaro with visions of a happy family and a lover that died. Arcelm with something completely different.

“Arcelm. Wake up.” Still no reaction. Slender arms grabbed his shirt, tugged at the fabric, and brought Veldarin closer to his body. Panic rose in his throat and he cursed himself for drinking too much and thinking himself safe in Amalthea’s Court. The creature had clearly followed them and ignored the magical barriers and protections. 

“Stop. Whatever you are. Stop.” Black tendrils crawled from his fingertips and a dim light engulfed them both. Magic whispered into his ear and crackled on his skin. His spell showed no effect, though. Arcelm still kept him close, pressed his body against him. Moaned. A strange sound from someone as shy and quiet as Arcelm. Too loud in this night. Too pretty and too young to be this close to him.

And Veldarin’s body reacted. 

Shit.

“Arcelm.” Veldarin slapped his cheek. “Come on. Whatever you’re dreaming of, it can’t be that good.” Or maybe it was. Arcelm’s arm snug around Veldarin’s neck and showed a surprising amount of strength. “Shit. Arcelm. Wake up.”

He heard the rest of the group then. They’d entered the Court, calling out for their missing companion. FInally some help. Not that Veldarin seemed especially keen on them finding him and Arcelm in such a position. So close to a kiss.

“Last chance, or we’ll have to think of something else.” Maybe the the calming presence of Dawn broke the spell, but Arcelm’s eyes moved behind closed lids, and he opened them slowly. Arcelm reacted like some frightened animal, pupils shining with a red gleam. Unnatural. A sign of something hiding beneath his face, crawling beneath his skin. 

Veldarin decided to ignore it, but with this and the vision that Amalthea shared, the picture became clear enough.

Arcelm’s skin seemed flushed and his lips red and swollen from a mere dream. Veldarin put some distance between their bodies and still found himself unable to offer the right words. Dawn’s sweet voice offered comfort, though. 

He took a step back, only to find Arcelm in his arms again, clearly looking for someone to hold on to. 

Veldarin needed more wine.


End file.
